


for better or worse

by SnowStormSkies



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Brothers, Celibacy, Chastity Device, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, Los Angeles, M/M, Punishment, Showers, enforced celibacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStormSkies/pseuds/SnowStormSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom’s past came back to bite him the fucking ass like a bear trap of his own devising. And it's all Gustav's fault. And maybe Bill's. But mostly Gustav's. And maybe a bit of his own fault. But ninety eight percent of it is totally Gustav. The dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for better or worse

**Author's Note:**

> Muchas Gracias to Gaja for the beta! And the coding.
> 
>  
> 
> Umm. I'm sorry. I have a thing for enforced celibacy in submissive partners? Written for a kink meme prompt.

 

  
_Tom being kept faithful whilst in America with a chastity cage. No-one can satisfy Tom as well as his G, not even himself_

\--

The mornings are the worst part of it, Tom has decided. Seriously, they’re the fucking worst.

He rolls over, plants his face in the mass of pillows and huffs as the realisation that he is _awake_ whether he wants to be or not seeps into his brain. He doesn’t want to get up. It’s ten fucking am. That's practically midnight for Kaulitz brothers.

His hand catches on the strap around his waist and he sighs.

No more morning wood, no more independent showers, no more freedom for his dick - Tom’s had to come to terms with a lot since moving to the Land of the Free and Brave.

And it’s all because of his _lover_.

Six months ago, Tom and Bill upped sticks to America, needing to get away from the fucking so called _fans_ who went through their garbage, nearly ran their cars off the road, tracked down and intimidated their mother, and in every way made their lives hell on earth.

The last straw had been finding their house broken into while they were in Norway. Tom had nearly thrown up at David’s apologetic words as they sat around the restaurant table. It had been a celebration of their success but, in all honesty, the only thing they did was mourn the _shit_ that it had brought instead. Nothing had been taken from their five bedroom house - nothing of _value_ at least - but it was just … they couldn’t take it anymore. Both he and Bill needed an _out_ and they needed fast.

So now Tom is half way across the world, and supposed to be moving on from everything in Germany but there’s one thing he _doesn’t_ want to move on from.

He reaches for the book on the nightstand, the coloured scrapbook that he’s been working on for the last few days, and he brushes his thumb across the names on the front, a lump in his throat making it hard to swallow for a moment.

_**Tom & Gustav** _

It’s been two whole years, he thinks as he flicks through his scrapbook - something that very few people even know about - twenty four whole months since he and Gustav first came together. It’s been a hell of a time, from the interesting - a camping trip in the Black Forest, to the mundane - cooking dinner together, but Tom wouldn’t change it for the world.

He’s a little surprised at himself. Him, playboy Tom Kaulitz who, up until two years ago, firmly believed his dick only liked women, and yet the proof, and there was so much of it, is undeniable. The scrapbook in his hands is one of a small collection stored underneath his bed, the pictures inside showing him kissing Gustav, being thrown into the pool, the two of them sleeping together on the couch like two puppies in a basket as a film plays on in the background.

There are so many memories - both he and Gustav are camera happy shutter bugs as Bill calls them - and hardly a day went by without something to show for Tom’s scrapbooks. A picture of dinner in a hotel room, a lazy snapshot when they kissed in Gustav’s bunk…

It feels like forever in some ways, but Tom is constantly amazed by the fact that it had only begun two years ago.

It had been when they were on tour. Tom had to share a room with one of the other two because Bill was sick and they were, as per usual, one room down since the hotel had overbooked, assuming that Tokio Hotel couldn’t _really_ need thirty rooms in a hotel, because who the hell travelled with so many people? Tokio Hotel did, even when they abandoned half the crew to sleep on the buses. David threatened to castrate Tom if he came down with the lergy too because two sick Kaulitzes would implode the fucking universe or something, and that left Tom the odd man out. He’d picked Gustav without really thinking about it, their friendship stretching far enough to share a bed for one night.

Georg hadn’t minded - he’d had Tom the last time Bill was feeling off and they were down a room, so even though it made Tom feel like a bed-hopping whore, he’d knocked on Gustav’s door without the expectation of much of anything, really.

Gustav had let him in with a smile.

After dinner, and a shower, and a last phone call to Bill, who sounded pitiful and sorry for himself because he had _manflu_ according to Dunja, Tom had hung up the dressing gown that Gustav had allowed him to use and slid into the king-size bed without a care in the world. But when Tom was under the covers, ready to sleep, and Gustav was lounging next to him, reading another novel about the cold war or whatever, something had changed. A spark in the air, the way he caught Gustav’s eye, _something_ had been different.

Tom and Georg flirted, and Tom knew they did. It was safe, it was normal, it was okay. They flirted because it made the fans laugh, they flirted because they were always horny and there was never enough time or energy to find someone to pull so it was a mutual release, it was okay because nobody wanted anything more out of it than a laugh and a smile.

But Gustav did not flirt. Not with Tom. Not until a few weeks before, and suddenly Georg had been edged out of it picture by Gustav’s half smiles, dark eyes, and almost… challenges to Tom.

Being in bed with him did not change _any_ of that.

And Gustav had kissed him.

Tom had kissed back.

It had just grown from there, and Tom didn’t know how, okay, but it had, and he was always in Gustav’s capable hands right from that first kiss.

It had started with small things; Gustav carrying an extra scarf to give to Tom when he was cold, reminding him to order a salad instead of a burger because of his fucking diet, calling him or even coming knocking on the door of the hotel room, or the tour bus, or the studio to make sure he got up at a more reasonable hour than two in the afternoon. And Tom hadn’t minded, not really. It was nice to have someone be on the lookout for him, to make sure he was okay in the midst of everything.

Gradually, it progressed, and Tom really didn’t notice until it was… until it was _normal_ again. Gustav started getting further inside Tom’s head, pushing him to talk, asking him to communicate his needs, writing down what he _needed_ rather than what he thought he **wanted**. Gustav started ordering his food, or telling him what was okay to order, when they went out to restaurants; he started taking away Tom’s cigarettes so he could only have a smoke when _Gustav_ said it was okay, and he started getting Tom to tell him where he was going, who he was going with.

Some people would find it weird. Or restrictive. Or even… Tom heard the word _abusive_ bandied around, not about him and Gustav, but about some of the other people he came into contact with or saw in magazines, and he was frightened by that sort of thing. He wasn’t being _abused_ , for fuck’s sake.

It’s been a slow process, learning to be Gustav’s lover, learning that Gustav stands head and shoulders below Tom in physical stature but miles above him in terms of power and control. Tom doesn’t _entirely_ understand how they got to this point, in actuality. He doesn’t. As far as he’s concerned, it’s been a fact of life being under Gustav’s firm command and it’s not his place, as he’s told often enough, to object to it.

He tried bucking it at first, sneaking out to buy cigarettes and fast food because he hated being told he couldn’t have something, staying out far beyond when he normally would have called it a night just to prove that he could still party hard but… but the disappointment in Gustav’s eyes the next morning when Tom turned up hungover and smelling of cigarettes and booze and cheap perfume made for uncomfortable living. He started feeling guilty every time he saw those golden arches, even if he wasn’t going through the drive thru at four am.

When he found himself outside Gustav’s house at six am because he wanted something so bad and he didn’t know what it was, but he needed his lover’s help… he kind of knew that it was time to give it up, let it happen, and stop fighting it. He’d been driving for hours, trying _not_ to go to Gustav, trying to stay away, but the voice inside of him, the one that said _go to him, he knows what I need_ , was loud and very convincing.

He’d knocked on Gustav’s front door with the profound sense that this would change something, that this would mean something different in their relationship, and it had.

But Gustav told him it was okay. And it was. Tom _liked_ being told what was okay when he ordered food; having a small selection made it easier for him to decide, rather than having to pick _one_ thing out of eight hundred dishes. He _didn’t_ like being told to ask for a cigarette, but eventually, he quit out of sheer lack of smokes. There was never a good time to get them out of Gustav, and once he realised that, the minute his back was turned after handing over a new pack, Gustav would bin the whole thing and not even take off the cellophane wrapper, it just wasn’t worth it. He did like the health kick he got out of that.

 

He liked Gustav knowing where he was, too. It was nice to know someone cared enough about him to keep tabs on him not just because it was their job, and, although he was never prohibited from going out with someone, he was reminded if he had a meeting or a session in the studio the next day, and asked if it was really a good idea to be going drinking when he needed to be on top form in the morning.

Sometimes he had to stay no and stay in where once he would have said fuck it and gone out anyway.

Slowly, so fucking slowly that it was like molasses creeping, it got more and more, and Tom let it. He _wanted_ it in some strange way, he _needed_ it. It felt so good to just hand off control, to stop fucking panicking over everything, and just _live in_ the moment.

He learnt that when Gustav took the menu away, or made him put his car keys in the dresser drawer so he had to rely on Gustav to take him somewhere, or when his clothes were laid out for him and he didn’t have to do anything but shower and put them on, he wasn’t just … he wasn’t being stupid or dumb or too weird. He was doing exactly what he wanted to do, he was being closer to himself than he had ever been before. Control is fickle, and he didn't want it most of the time.

Gustav liked Tom’s shift in attitude too. He wormed his way into every aspect of Tom’s life, peeling back every layer of secrecy and password protection until there was nothing left to hide.

Like, for example, his credit and debit cards. He refused to hand them over, and Gustav said he didn’t want them, because, if they ever fell out, it would be too easy to hurt Tom right in the finances, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of them. But Tom didn’t get it all to himself either, Gustav asked him to show statements and his account print outs and he did, handing them over in a neat blue binder for Gustav to peruse at his leisure.

And then even that stopped being enough - Gustav was a _taker_ at heart and he wanted more than just seeing the figures on paper.

Tom starting having to account for everything, every little cent, every off the cuff purchase. Every time he got out his wallet to pay, he had to justify it. The bills and the rent and shit like that were easy to explain, even if Gustav nagged him about reducing their electricity bill from the constant TV use and the dryer and the stereo in his room on all the time. On the other hand, there were stupid purchases like games for his iPhone and early morning coffee on the way into the studio despite there being two coffee machines in the studio _and_ at home, not to mention fast food breakfasts too and they were _much_ harder to justify.

Gustav made him count it up, every euro that he spent on what the older man called _useless shit_ and he’d been actually quite horrified by the total, spending nearly a hundred euro a month on coffee, breakfast, and iTunes purchases that he really didn’t _need_. When Tom found that out, Gustav asked what he would be doing to stop it, and when Tom couldn’t decide, Gustav offered to hold his petty cash.

_No fucking chance!_ had been Tom’s initial answer; he always defaulted to it. But when he’d actually stopped getting pissy about it, and gone through a list of pros and cons, it wasn’t that bad. He never spent much without thinking about it until it came to these small change purchases, and when Gustav showed him what would happen – a small weekly stipend, enough for a meal out if he was careful or several small purchases if he wasn’t in the mood for eating out that he could use at his discretion but had to account for – it started to look more appealing.

An automatic transfer sent it over to a joint account every month but Tom only had a passbook whereas Gustav had a card. It meant that Tom couldn’t be sneaky and transfer money around. If he went into the bank and asked them to give him the money, there was a stamp and a date in the book that he couldn’t hide, but Gustav could go to a cash machine and withdraw it when _he_ was ready and Tom wouldn’t never be any the wiser unless he was told.

Soon, it was normal for them, Gustav handing him a crisp twenty or fifty euro note on Monday morning, and Tom handing him back the change from it on Sunday night.

And gradually, he found himself spending less. Wanting to do less. A night in with Gustav or with Bill, cooking and laughing, or watching a rubbish film, or _having… sex…_ was far far far better than going out, hitting the clubs all the time because he hated the crush of people and the loud music and the heavy smell of cigarettes and sweat and booze that followed him out the door afterwards. He wanted _people_ , now, not _things_.

Gustav reminded him that fame was fickle and, if he spent his fortune on crap like that, he’d have nothing to show when he turned forty and needed a new job. That was a Gustav thing - long term planning - and he hauled Tom into it with enthusiasm. Tom is now officially used to shares and corporate plans and investment bonds and ISAs and other crap like that.

But Tom trusts that Gustav knows what he’s doing, that he won’t lead Tom wrong - not with the aid of two investment planners, at least - and that’s the end of it. If Gustav says it’s time to invest again, then Tom gets out his account books and starts investing his money into the places he wants and that Gustav thinks is okay. Gustav doesn’t say no, but he won’t let Tom invest his money in things he doesn’t trust like time shares and Italian Banks.

Clothes stopped being such a worry for Tom around the fourth month of their relationship. Gustav liked Tom to tell him what he was wearing that day, reminding him to dress appropriately for the weather, and making sure that the request was followed. Tom found thermal underwear making its into his wardrobe because he’s always been fucking hypersensitive to the cold, and then sun cream for those long lazy summer days, too, because he’s prone to falling asleep outside on the sunlounger they had in the wall garden of the studio. His jeans and t-shirts and hoodies were always neatly ironed and folded or hung on the right coloured hanger – blue for jeans, black for sweats, red for t-shirts and so on and so forth and Tom knows Gustav had done it.

He trusted Gustav to make the decision as to whether he needed something and if he didn’t, then he didn’t.

Gustav made it clear that all Tom had to do was let go.

That’s why he loves Gustav. Tom can trust him to not mince his words but to have his feet firmly in the ground and know exactly what’s going on. It’s a weird thing to love, not the gentle hands, or the excellent body, though of course, Gustav had both, but the constant ability to read Tom and see reality and never ever lie.

And that’s a big one, _never lying_ \- because, right from the start, Tom’s past has been a big issue for them. He’s not proud of it, not now, at least, even though when he was younger, he thought he was king of the fucking gods. Very early on their relationship, something like the third _week_ , if Tom remembers correctly, Gustav asked him how many girls and after much squirming, and hasty recollections of nights in hotel rooms and in back rooms, the number Tom arrived at - a significant proportion of it guesses based on hazy alcohol fuelled memories - was positively shameful.

Ninety six women or girls. Ninety _fucking_ six.

That’s about eighty more than Gustav has had in his _whole life_.

Not all of them were full on sexual encounters but really, in all honesty, Tom is fucking horrified at his own reputation. It’s kind of traumatic having to tell someone that you’ve had intimate relations with almost a hundred different women in about four years.

Gustav had asked for his solemn promise to never go looking for sex again, and Tom had agreed. Simple as. Or so he thought, at the time, and Gustav hasn’t made any attempt to correct that line of thinking at the time.

That’s pretty much their whole relationship - not like fireworks, and not like the burning of the sun; he has that in bucket loads when he plays on stage or collects awards - it’s more than that. It was … it is safety. Security. The knowledge that Gustav knows him, and won’t judge his admittedly rather chequered past, and would make sure he was… was okay.  
But the fact remained that Gustav could not follow him to America, his family needed him, and he was uneasy leaving them for so long, and Tom _had_ to get out of Germany before he went mad.

Neither he nor Bill could take the constant stalking, the living nocturnally in an effort to get shit done, the pain of hearing that their mother’s garbage had been gone through again by fuckers looking for stuff on the band. They were already living virtually as prisoners in an attempt to avoid some of the stalking but it wasn’t working. The stalkers got wind of their plans long before the twins could stop them and they were always there. It was getting dangerous – the girls who followed them had already caused Bill to crash his car once, and Tom had spun in his Caddy more than once where they clipped him.

He’d go mad. He had already been put on a low dose of anti-anxiety medication, much to his shame, after Gustav’s firm instructions to go and see the doctor, but it wasn’t really helping.

And so they arrived at this.

And Tom _hated_ it first. He loathed it. Wouldn’t admit to even Bill what had happened but Gustav had been his usual prepared self and told Tom’s brother before he had even told Tom.

About the chastity belt. Cage. Thing.

Whatever.

It was a horrific device, Tom was sure, designed to cut him off in the very worst way, and he resented it right from the start.  
Didn’t Gustav _trust_ him? Didn’t Gustav know that he wouldn’t stray?

But it was made quite clear to him with a record like his behind him and a lack of… self control - and okay, Tom won’t deny the self control thing because he fucking sucks at it - that Gustav cannot be sure that he _won’t_ stray.

Tom’s past came back to bite him the fucking ass like a bear trap of his own devising.

And the two devices that Gustav provides are designed to make sure he wouldn’t forget it either.

The chastity belt was the first thing Tom was introduced to and he fucking _hated_ it right from the moment he saw it.

It’s a simple device: it has a tube for his dick to sit in, and a cup for his balls to rest in so he can’t even touch them, and a wide flexible thing on the front that covers his groin up completely so he can’t reach any part of it. And there’s even a strap that runs down through his legs, between his cheeks to hook in at the waist band at the band and the entire thing feels fucking awful. It looks so weird as he stares at himself, nude but the belt in the mirror. His entire groin is just a flat shiny expanse of steel and it makes him look… sexless. Not human. His balls and dick are hidden behind the metal, which is edged in protective rubber to make sure he won’t scratch his skin, a sheer level of steel.

It comes with a plug as well but thankfully the times that Gustav has insisted he wear it are few and far between.

It’s unpleasant to wear too, making him feel awkward and stiff, but Gustav prefers the belt design; it absolutely removes all temptation for Tom because he can’t fucking reach anything. It’s all out of his grasp behind steel and rubber. He has to ask to pee, he has to ask to shit, to shower and to wax it off down there because it just makes him itchy. He’s not in command at all when he wears it.

The other device is a cock cage, and Tom would cheerfully murder whoever came up with the design because it’s made of plastic, and thus can be worn through airports and while travelling without the need to remove it for metal detectors, which means it’s apparently _an excellent thing_ in Gustav’s book. When Tom landed at LAX, guess what he was wearing underneath his baggy jeans.

Three guesses, the first two don’t count.

The clear plastic device can be locked with an easy to remove pin, which is what has to be used when travelling, and then his _minder_ has to keep an even closer eye on him because the only padlocks they can find to work with it are metal, which would defeat the objective of the cage being able to pass through the metal detectors. But when he’s just at home, or out and about with Bill, he has to wear a padlock and only his minder has the key to get him out of it, if he needs to pee or to shower.

And since Gustav doesn’t trust him with his own key, not even after Tom begged, and pleaded, and threw the mother of all tantrums (which Gustav said just proved his point about not being responsible enough), he gets a minder. A key holder. Someone who is Gustav’s stand in for removing and replacing the device and guess who the fuck it is.

If you guessed Georg, you’re an idiot.

It’s Bill.

And Tom was appalled when he first found out. His baby brother, his _twin_ was going to be the one who had to take care of Tom’s enforced celibacy. It was almost too much to bear.

He blustered and shouted and insisted that it be someone else, but Gustav had stood firm against the hurricane of objections that Tom sent his way for _fucking hours_. Hours. He’d thrown plates, he’d fucking stamped his feet, banged his hand on the table over and over until he bruised his palm, slammed doors, locked himself in the bathroom, and outright sobbed when it became clear he wasn’t winning. To him, it was more than the metal and rubber that it appeared to be.

It was loss of freedom, loss of _core identity_ as a man because for Tom, a man was someone who had control over his own dick. It meant he was giving up his right not just to have sex but to masturbate, to have pleasure and release that he’d spent a long time cultivating. Now he was being asked – _fucking told_ – to give it all up for God knew how long, and to have his own brother control it for him to boot. Gustav hadn’t let what was effectively a tantrum get to him, even as Tom promised him the world if he would just relent, and it had ended, rather anti-climatically with Gustav getting his way.

Teary eyed and curled up under the duvet in Gustav’s bed as the man himself sat beside him and asked very reasonably if he had finished, Tom had finally consented to Bill being his key holder for the duration of their stay in America. It had taken six hours of wailing, ranting, demanding, throwing everything he could think at Gustav like a child having a meltdown but Gustav had worn him down, not through physically restraining him even though Tom has no doubt that Gustav really could if he wanted to but just… just not giving him anything to push against.  
Tom broke himself, really.

So now, all the way across the ocean from Gustav’s bed, and his physical presence, Tom wears his belt, sitting cross legged in bed naked except for the steel cock blocking device, and he flicks through the scrapbook of his, while he holds onto a pillow.

It’s enough to tide him through. Mostly.

Bill knocks on the door frame, waiting for Tom to look up before he enters the room. “Here.” Tom smiles as Bill speaks. His twin has brought him coffee in his favourite blue and red mug, that says _Captain Awesome_ on it, and he takes it gratefully. Beautiful French roast, just how he likes it. “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“Okay.” But Bill’s seen the scrapbook and they both know that Tom turns to the collection of memories when he’s feeling a bit lonely and missing Gustav. “I’m alright.” He leans on Bill’s shoulder for a bit when an arm is wrapped around him. “Just missing him a bit.”

“We’ll be back home soon,” Bill comforts him and Tom sighs. Soon is relative in their world. In this case another month and a half and he’s counting the _hours_ at this point. “You want a shower?”

“Meh.” Tom is entirely uninterested in getting out bed but he has a video call with Gustav this afternoon, and he knows that his lover will ask him what time he got up, and if he says late afternoon, Gustav’ll be disappointed in him. “Suppose.”

“Shall I go and get the camera, then?” Bill asks but Tom shakes his head, one hand pulling at Bill’s silk kimono to make him stay. “You want me to stay?”

“Mmmm.” Tom is feeling supremely lazy this morning, and Bill is more than happy to sit with him as they drink their coffee and watch a cooking show on the flatscreen on the wall at the foot of Tom’s bed. The chefs on the TV are making Italian and since that’s one of Tom’s favourites, he makes a note to look it up online. He’s still operating under a total ban of fast food, despite the fact that Bill often insists on tormenting him with food from Mickey Ds or the Mexican place that Tom can never remember the name of, and he’s actually doing well with it.

It might have to do with the fact that Gustav threatened to spank him raw - Tom understanding through experience that that is not an idle threat - if he did cave and go fast food jointing with his brother, but Tom’s proud of his resistance to the fried and greasy goodness.

But Mickeys Ds’ fries are just so amazingly good that he has to go work out in the gym to stop him being tempted.

Bill strokes down Tom’s side and he sighs, letting go of the little bit of tension he’s been holding onto ever since he woke up. He dreamed of Gustav again and although the dream was nice, but ache in his heart combined with the one in his groin made him pine for Germany and what he left behind. In LA, he and Bill sit through two shows, vegging out in the sunlight seeping in through the blind slats, and Tom just relishing the chilled out feeling.

All too soon, though, it’s time for Tom to get up and out of bed, and Bill prods him with a black painted nail until he does finally rise from the mattress and shuffle around to find his clean towel, dressing gown, shower cap and slippers. It’s like preparing for a bloody expedition but he eventually shuffles his way into the en suite bathroom to wait for Bill and the camera.

It’s another ritual of Gustav’s, put in place to make sure he doesn’t try to cheat his way out of it, and the solution has been rather simple yet effective. Every so often he sends Bill a parcel of numbered tags, and all Bill does is loop one through the metal hook of the padlock from the cage or tie it on the waistband of the chastity belt, a new green one every morning and a red one every night and it proves to Gustav that Tom is actually wearing the device, consistently. Or at least, it does when Bill takes a picture of it. One when it goes on, and one just before it comes off.

Usually, it’s in Gustav’s choice of position, arms behind his head, feet wide enough to expose the chosen device in its all glory with the number tag prominent, but sometimes, when Tom is feeling sick or exhausted, Bill just gets him to drop his pants and pull up his shirt while sprawled on the sofa or in bed and takes it then.

Not how Tom wants his baby brother to see him but the _one_ time he kicked Bill out and refused to let him take it, Gustav phoned up the next morning and said that if he _ever_ did that again, Gustav would fly out and give him the caning to end all canings, and Tom _seriously_ never wanted to try that.

So yeah. He gets to stand naked and exposed before his brother just so Bill can get his number shot in for the day (at least until bedtime) and then Tom finally gets his five minutes of freedom because Bill unlocks whichever device he’s been locked into overnight, and leaves it by the sink to be cleaned and dried later.

Instead of leaving him alone, though, Bill sits on the bathroom counter and talks to him as he goes through his bathing routine.

Gustav does not trust him to jack off either and Tom had been so frustrated about that but his lover had been both firm in his resolve and quick with a slap to the backside to snap Tom out of his brewing temper tantrum.

Tom is a guy, and he did, admittedly, spend a lot of time with his hands down his trousers. He didn’t masturbate constantly, he’s not into rubbing his dick raw, thanks, but he did… like to hold onto the boys. Just feeling them in his hand made him feel pretty fine about himself.

He didn’t do it all the time, but if he was bored or tired, it was just a nice thing to do to pass the time and sometimes, yeah, it did lead to masturbating which was a perfectly good way to relax - he always slept better when he jacked one off into a tissue or onto his naked skin, which he did wipe off before actually dropping off because _gross_.

But Gustav made sure he couldn’t do that, and, especially with the belt, he can’t even access the boys, hidden behind steel or plastic that they are, and now he has to learn to let the need to touch himself pass away without interaction. It’s why Bill’s in here, sometimes, Tom doesn’t catch himself before he’s stroking his dick, caressing it almost absently in the steam of the shower and it takes a sharp word to make him come back to Earth and drop his cock.

Today he’s good, making it through the shower without any need for a reminder of his promise to Gustav and Bill grins at him when he gets out of the shower, smelling of mint and something fresh that he doesn’t know the name of.

“You did well, Tom!” Bill praises him and Tom scoffs but it’s true. This entire week feels like it’s been one constant barrage of _leave your dick alone, stop squirming, no rubbing up against stuff, leave it alone, stop touching, do not hump the furniture_ \- he is seriously not proud of that last one - but he hopes today will go slightly better. Perhaps he might even make it through to the end of the day without any more infractions.

He’s already up to sixteen red marks on the board; twenty, and there’s _serious_ punishment on the menu.

He wraps the towel that Bill hands him around his waist, reaching under the counter for his Box of Shit as they both call it. Inside the grey plastic box is all the stuff Tom needs to clean his devices to keep them in _good working order_ as Gustav calls it. Hygienic antibacterial wipes and soap, sponges and paper towels to dry it, lubricating oil for the hinges and padlocks and more.

It doesn’t take him long to clean the belt because he’s just so used to it by now, wiping it down with the soap, using the wipes to get into the little crevices where harmful bacteria could grow, and just checking to make sure it’s all working. Bill fiddles with the camera as he sits on the counter top and Tom lets his brother press one skinny ankle into his thigh.

It feels nice to be so relaxed.

He moves onto drying the belt with the paper towels, and Bill watches him out of the corner of his eye. Tom knows that Bill is watching, he can feel it on his skin, but he doesn’t react, just carefully running the white sheets all over the device. Leaving even a bit of it wet potentially means crotch rot - Gustav made him read _all_ the warning stuff about that - and he has no desire to ever do that.

“You wearing the belt today?” Bill nods to object in question.

Tom nods. “Yeah.” Gustav prefers it; it really does put everything off limits for Tom, makes him feel as though he has absolutely no control and the fact that he has to ask Bill to pee or shit means he’s under constant watch. He has to get permission to switch it for the cage, not that he ever _wants_ to wear it, but it’s much easier to get through airport security or through metal detectors with the plastic than the belt.

He prefers to fit the belt in his own bedroom; the light is better in there and it takes a bit of practise to do it, so when Bill is finally ready after fucking around with the camera, Tom scuffs off into his bedroom, his baby brother following.

Well. Not such a baby now.

But whatever.

Inside the room, Bill is vegging out on Tom’s bed, stealing his phone to flick through his games, only two now, that he’s been playing for nearly a year because he needs _something_ to fiddle with when he’s waiting for shit, and, in general, ignoring Tom in every way.

Fair enough. This is weird enough without having an attentive audience, and Tom signs as he reaches for the dry towel on the back of his chair to give himself one final complete rub down. Any sweat or damp underneath the belt leaves for an unpleasant feeling _all day_ and Bill doesn’t always feel like unlocking him in public if they’ve decided to go out to explore LA for the day. A quick smear of moisturiser over the whole area to make sure it doesn’t dry out in there, the hairless skin feeling strange under his fingers even after all this time.

He waxes now - or shaves if they’re on a tight schedule - but even though hair is supposed to protect him from sweat rash and stuff like that, it just feels horrific behind the steel. Three days of slyly trying to scratch behind the enclosure was all he got before Gustav handed him a home waxing kit and sent him off to figure it out.

Bill ended up coming in to save him when he was holding the box and feeling way out of his depth. Sometimes, Tom wishes he hadn’t because, fuck, waxing hurts, but it’s better than scratching like he’s got pubic lice.

And now he stands in front of the mirror, throws the towel over chair back again, and puts his chastity device back on.

It’s taken him a long time to learn how to do it. When he was wearing during the last few weeks they were in Germany, he couldn’t figure it out, and Gustav or Bill had to come and rescue him, but now, all this time on from the first time Gustav laid it out on the sterile sheet in the bedroom, he’s got it down pat.

There’s a knack to it, and Tom ends up whistling quietly as he fastens the lock in the back in the back, catching the plastic tag Bill throws at him to clip it around the waistband, runs his fingers down between the rubber edges and his skin, making sure it doesn’t pinch the very sensitive skin around here. He guides the crotch strap between his legs, pushing the tabbed end into the lock at the centre of the waistband but not quite clicking it in until he’s done a final check. He’s done well this morning, and there’s no gathering of flesh that’ll pinch and hurt when he’s sat down and then it’s just a final push down on the waistband to make sure he’s not going to end up with a wedgie all day and he’s done.

“Looks pretty good,” Bill says as he throws Tom’s phone back on the bed. “Turn round so we can get the last picture done.”

He sighs, but it’s the last one until tonight and he can upload the last few days pictures to the secure folder online so Gustav can download them at his leisure. He might as well just suck it up and let it happen.  
Feet spread, Tom braces his arms behind his head, letting his fingers lace up flat against his cornrows - they need doing again, he thinks absently, reminding himself to book a visit to the salon - and Bill gets his picture in, the new tag bright against the silver of the front panel.

After that, Bill takes the camera off to his room again, saying that he’ll be back after getting his own shower and dressing, and Tom throws himself on the bed to watch a bit more TV. He doesn’t actually feel all that inclined to getting dressed these days; the belt covers everything, and he likes the feeling of the breeze of the air con on his skin. On the dresser, he’s laid out his clothes for the day - a green t-shirt, dark jeans, a do-rag and a cap for his ‘rows - it’s all neatly folded and ready for him to dress himself, but he doesn’t want to put them on yet.

It’s something else that he and Bill have had to come to terms with since moving to LA but Tom actually… can’t be bothered to get dressed sometimes. If he’s just wandering down to the kitchen to get coffee or sitting on the couch to watch a film, he just slings a shirt on and goes for it. And sometimes, not even that.

Why should he? His belt covers everything and nobody ever comes to their house without warning, so a lot of the time, Bill is fully clothed, sprawling on the sofa in jeans and t-shirt or baggy sweats and a tank top and Tom is there in his chastity belt, barefoot and only wearing a do-rag if his rows need doing, spread out beside Bill or sitting upside down in one of the armchairs as they discuss their day or whatever.

It’s nice. It’s comfortable. Bill has seen _all_ of him, even taken pictures of it and really, what else is there to hide anyway? Tom told Gustav on the vid chat when he started doing it but was feeling weird about it, and his lover just shrugged at Tom. If Tom wants to wander the house in just his belt, that’s fine with him and he has Gustav’s blessing.

As long as he’s willing to do it when Gustav comes over, of course.

So he carries on doing it, only wearing clothes if they have to go out, and it’s making him into both a much relaxed person because he’s not obsessing about keeping his clothes clean, and a much tidier one too, because you _cannot_ sit on crumbs and not immediately feel like you need a shower again afterwards.

In the present, Bill comes back after an hour, cuddling up around Tom because they both don’t want to go out shopping again but there is literally no food in the house. They’ve even eaten the canned soup and stuff that Mom brought last time and they swore they’d never touch it, so they kind of have to.

“You need the bathroom?” Tom considered the question seriously. Does he need to pee? It’s unlikely that Bill will unlock him in the store, and they’ll be out at least a couple of hours. Yeah, he might as well go now and save the horrific begging in the middle of the parking lot to be released from bondage.

“Please.”

“Lock, Tom,” Bill says, fishing the bundle of keys out of his pocket and Tom drops his hand away from the waistband to let Bill have access to the lock on the belt. There are two - one in the front and one in the back - but Bill just undoes the one at the front, letting the crotch strap thing of the belt fall away between his legs until Tom catches it. Bill might have seen it all before, but it doesn’t mean Tom wants to show it more than necessary and he heads into the bathroom, leaving the door open for Bill to check up on him if he thinks Tom is whacking one off.

He wouldn’t do that anymore, too used to the rules put upon him. He used to try, every opportunity he was left on his own, he tried to get pleasure by wanking or just touching when he shouldn’t have done, but, gradually, he’s given up. There’s no point in doing it anymore. It just makes Bill angry because he can’t trust Tom, and it makes Gustav sad because Tom is trying to get around him and his rules, and the only person who gets it in the neck is _Tom_. And it’s not fun.

The disappointment in Gustav’s eyes was far worse than any spanking or caning he could receive, and Tom felt sick knowing he was the cause of it.

Now, he just finishes pissing, cleaning his dick down with an anti-bac wipe to make sure there’s no urine which could cause skin breakdown left, and reaches down for the dangling crotch strap. He’s careful to feed his dick into the tube, and place his balls into the cup just right - there’s nothing worse than pinching your nuts and having to scream to for someone to bring the key, and he’s learnt that the hard way - and then he clicks the end of the strap into the lock. It’s a hard decision to do it every time, choosing to put his pleasure in the hands of someone else, but he’s learnt to forget that.

“Good, Tom!” Bill smiles at him from where he’s standing in front of the mirror, tucking a beanie over his hair.

“Thanks.” Tom grins back a bit, reaching over to the dresser for his clothes, the boxer shorts first, and he means it.

His brother’s been here every step of the way, making sure that Tom didn’t stray or try to undermine Gustav’s rules and at first it was really fucking hard for them both. Bill was uneasy about taking pictures and having that much control over Tom, struggling to find the balance between too lenient and too harsh. Tom hated having to give his little brother progress reports, letting him hold the keys and asking to pee, and he found standing nude and exposed for Bill to capture him on film the single hardest thing he’d ever done.

He had cried.

He didn’t like putting his faith in someone else, letting someone control him with keys and a padlock and it showed; their first few days in America fraught with tension and snide comments. The first week or so of pictures all featured him sobbing, with his hands over his face, unable to accept what was happening to him.

In the end, Bill and he had had the most epic argument over it, both of them needing to get a lot of their chests. Bill was too harsh, limiting Tom to two bathroom visits a day and insisting on accompanying Tom everywhere, never letting him out of his sight which made them both incredibly irritable. They might love each other but **space** was important, too. He was too unforgiving as well, marking Tom up for every perceived infraction whereas Gustav, strict as he was, knew when Tom was just blowing hot air and when he was seriously misbehaving.

For his part, Tom was too hung up on the device, needing to be _forced_ to have the pictures taken and trying to circumvent the belt or the cage with any number of dirty tricks like using his lock picking skills to get the padlock for the cage off when Bill wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t tell Bill if he needed to pee until he _really fucking needed it_ which made the interaction hurried and needlessly fraught. He wasn’t ready to listen to Bill’s requests, no matter how reasonable, and by refusing to step even outside the house into the garden, he put pressure on their relationship, forcing Bill to stay closer to home than he sometimes wanted.

Afterwards, they came up with a list of rules, ten for Bill, ten for Tom, and by sticking to them, they avoided a lot of friction. Bill had to leave Tom alone sometimes, and unlock him if he needed the loo by using his discretion rather than rigidly allowing only two bathroom visits a day, and he had to trust Tom not to unpick it and not keep hounding about it. Tom had to stop fiddling with the locks, and to let Bill investigate the devices to make sure they were still locked tight ,and to ask to go the bathroom when he _first_ needed it, not when he was about to explode. And, above all, Tom was to trust Bill and Gustav.

It wasn’t the victory Tom had aimed for.

But he tried it for _one_ day. That’s what he promised Gustav, begrudgingly over the phone as he retreated to his room after the fight was over, clutching a copy of the rules. It hadn’t been easy getting to the point where he could give that promise, Gustav had had to talk him around for more than a few minutes, but in the end Tom promised. One day of being obedient and letting Bill look at the locks and not trying to grab for his dick and going to the bathroom when he needed it, rather than trying to hold it in until the evening or whatever, that’s all he would give.

If it didn’t work, then it would mean more very serious negotiations but Gustav had said to focus on just on the one day of being good rather than anything else.

The next morning, it began, and against expectations, it was… not so bad. He still hated it but it meant that he and Bill didn’t fight over it all day and they even watched a film and laughed over it together and when he took the dogs out, Bill came with him and they just… _talked_ like brothers instead of opponents in a wrestling match. They had dinner before Bill and he chilled on the sofa afterwards… and it was nice. Positive.

Gustav praised him when Tom talked on the phone afterwards, telling him how proud he was that Tom had been obedient and well behaved. Kinda felt like being patted on the head like Scotty but it was exactly what Tom had been hoping for ever since the plane landed at LAX. Tom had had the first _good_ day in America for a long time.

That night, Gustav had said to try again for another day. And the next night, he said it again, and before Tom knew it, he was being good, and Gustav was praising him every night for a week straight.

After that, it fell into place. The key to making a day into a good day wasn’t jacking off or arguing with Bill. It was about being obedient to Gustav’s wishes.

It’s not a perfect fix. Even now, there are still sometimes arguments, and Tom doesn’t win them as often as he’d like but Gustav tells him it’s the right thing to do to give in with grace when it comes to some things. Like having Bill with him to shower, he didn’t win that one. Or that Bill can decide if he can unlocked when they’re out and about, he didn’t win that one either. And he didn’t even win the one when Bill refused to unlock him when they were going to the pool at Shay and Shiro’s place.

Tom was put in the cage and it fucking sucked but nobody noticed.

Well, Shay did, but Tom doesn’t think that she minds knowing that he’s locked up. Not with the way she kept looking at him. She probably finds it amusing. She did keep touching it, just under the water, brushing against him in the water, her hand just touching his skin beneath the elasticated waist of his swim shorts as they swam around and Bill tried to batter him with a pool noodle.

She’d smiled at him and walked away when he’d come out the water, confused, half way to hard and still stuck in plastic and a padlock, feeling strangely… not intimidated by her but she’d seriously fucking confused him.

It’s hard to apologise for arguing but he knows that Gustav would be proud of him for doing it. Saying sorry is a tough thing for Tom, always has been, but now he can do it, it means he’s starting to understand people around him. Bill and he are closer now that he doesn’t think with his dick all the time, and, he’s starting to make friends. Like, real friends. Women, girls, men… whatever. David is introducing them to networking outside of just industry parties, and Shay and Shiro have been godsends to them. They were supposed to be just people to use and be used by for music and fashion and publicity, and Tom wasn’t entirely okay with that. But now they’re good friends, firm friends.

For the first time, Tom isn’t thinking like he used to: that people will just use them and fuck off again unless they’re in the very small intimate circle that the band used to have. He likes it. They go out. They go to clubs. They go to concerts and go out shopping and Shay and Shiro invite them to their house for dinner, and Shay takes Tom shopping because he doesn’t have a fucking clue about American customs and he wants to shop at the high end boutiques but he don’t know what to do, and Bill likes to hang with Shiro back at the house, and talk music and dogs and …whatever else they talk about.

It’s like growing up all over again, but taking his dick off the table is suddenly making him more… friendly? Bill tells him and it’s probably true. He’s a lot less spiky and unwelcoming to interlopers, more open to discussion and debate and just… relaxing. He feels less put upon to come up with smart answers and deflect away people’s attention, that’s for sure.

Adjusting his cap, Tom stands in front of the mirror, checking how he looks. The belt doesn’t show at all, his baggy jeans and t-shirt covers it all and he presses his thumb against the lock where it sits against his pelvis.

He misses freedom like _fuck_ but sometimes, when he just lets his thumb sit against the lock, he can almost feel Gustav’s hand on his waist, on his hips and thighs, holding him still against the urge to seek pleasure and he knows he can stay back for the rest of the day.

“Let’s go.” Bill stands by the door, his manbag over his shoulder. They’re both dressing down, trying to avoid the fucking pap guy who keeps following them around still, despite the fact that the twins have both said they won’t be doing anything for a while. Bill’s pale jeans, hi-tops and grey **kiss me quick** t-shirt shouldn’t attract too much attention, or so they hope, especially when combined with the charcoal beanie. “Let’s go buy food for the dogs, at least, before they start eating us alive.”

“They’ll go for me first. More meat.” Tom snickers as Bill slaps his arm, and then punches him for good measure as they fight their way down the stairs. It feels good to be just rough housing with Bill as they reach the foyer, and they only stop shoving each other regretfully when they get accosted by the gaggle of dogs released from the family room. “Alright, alright!” Tom laughs, scruffing his baby boy’s ears, Nova content to sit on his shoes and be petted while Cassie and Siz - Bill’s dachshunds - try very hard to scrabble up Bill’s jeans, desperate for attention and pettings.

Slower than the others, Scotty meanders over to Tom, leaning against his legs with a sigh, and Tom strokes the greying muzzle. Scotty’s old now, ten or more, he thinks off the top of his head, and sometimes, like now, it shows. Two year old Nova’s poking around in Tom’s pockets, trying to sniff out treats but Scotty’s content to sit there, being stroked and having his ears played with.

Tom spends an extra five minutes with him, just to make sure that Scotty knows he’s loved.

“You took them out this morning?” he asks Bill, confused when all the dogs, once given their morning pettings don’t immediately leap for the door. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I can do stuff too!” Bill puts his hands on his hips, pursing his lips at Tom’s surprise. It’s not his fault, Bill is not exactly known for being an early riser.

“How long did you walk them?”

“Half an hour for my two, half an hour for yours. And they all shit as well, thanks so much for that, by the way.” Bill pulls a face.

Tom raises his hands, backing off. If Bill says he did, then he did, but Tom makes a mental note to take them all on a horrendously long walk later so they’ll be exhausted when it comes time for the vid chat with Gustav. He doesn’t want it to be interrupted by the need to for canine toileting. Again.

They put the dogs back in the family room again, turning the air con up a little bit and making sure they’ve all got water and the last of the food before crating them. Since coming to LA, they’ve been to training classes for the dogs, all of whom are rescues and need special advice to deal with individual neuroses, and one of the things they were taught was crating.

Like Tom when he’s stressed out, dogs feel safer when they’re in an enclosed space; they feel more secure. With a blanket over the top, a crate is a _humane_ way to keep them all separated and unable to steal each other’s food. Bill’s little Siz can be a right little shit when he wants to be, winding up the other dogs, and it’s just easier (and quieter) to keep them all separated until there’s a twin in the house to monitor for doggie squabbles.

They’re not going to be gone long but it’s better than coming back to find Siz bleeding from the ear again because he tried to pinch Nova’s food.

Once all the dogs are in their pens and Tom has found the car keys, since, once again, Bill cannot be assed to drive, and they’ve got back upstairs to retrieve iPhones because there’s always something they forget, the two of them finally make it to the door, set the code for the alarm system, get out the door and into the car.

Eventually.

First order of business then. Food shopping. After that, who knows?

But Tom is content to follow the lead of someone else yet again. 

 

 


End file.
